


"Time Heals All Wounds," and other bullshit Yuri Plisetsky doesn’t want to hear

by Adrianners



Series: YoI Ship Bingo entries [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alcohol, Background Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov - Freeform, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Future Fic, M/M, POV Yuri Plisetsky, Past Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky - Freeform, Post-Break Up, Set 9 years after S1, Yuri!!! On Ice Ship Bingo, hinted future Yuri Plisetsky/Georgi Popovich
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 06:33:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12501036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adrianners/pseuds/Adrianners
Summary: Yuri Plisetsky is 24 years old and has never gone through a serious breakup before. The trick to coping, he’s learned, is to drink himself into oblivion. If only Georgi Popovich would let him get on with it instead of trying to make him talk about his feelings.





	"Time Heals All Wounds," and other bullshit Yuri Plisetsky doesn’t want to hear

**Author's Note:**

> Next on the YoI Ship Bingo list, we have… Georgi & Yuri, a ship I had never even slightly thought about before, and somehow this is what happened. Can’t believe my first mention of Otayuri is a breakup. (T_T) Sorry, kiddos!

Yuri didn’t know the name of what he was drinking. When he arrived just under an hour ago, he’d asked for the beer with the highest alcohol content on tap, and what he found sitting in front of him a minute later was a snifter of thick, dark liquid. It smelled of whisky and smoke, and each sip was syrupy with malt.

He hated it. He’d had four so far.

He wished he could call Viktor and Yuuri, but it was already well past midnight in Japan. They had moved back to Hasetsu two years ago when Yuuri retired from competition. Last Yuri knew, they were teaching beginner classes and taking on limited numbers of choreography commissions at the Ice Castle, which they now co-owned. It was nothing like their careers in Russia, but they seemed happier than ever. They’d bought a house near the beach and adopted three dogs. Yuri suspected it was only a matter of time before they announced another kind of adoption. Viktor’s daily text messages with pictures of local dogs and cats now tended to include at least one cute, chubby-cheeked baby he’d spotted as well.

Yuri had almost gone with them. Viktor had been his coach since Yakov retired, after all. To Yuri’s shock, Viktor was the one most opposed to it. He’d finally convinced Yuri that the support team mattered as much as the coach, maybe more, and that was something they weren’t going to have in Hasetsu. Yuri couldn’t afford to put his career at risk like that. Besides, moving to Japan wouldn’t only affect his life. It would be asking Otabek to move his home rink and give up his coaching team as well.

Otabek, who had gotten on a plane to Almaty today with no return ticket.

Otabek, who had given him one last kiss on the cheek and said, “I’m so sorry, Yura,” before he walked away forever.

Yuri drained his beer and waved at the bartender for another.

“He’s switching to water,” called a voice over his shoulder.

“Like fuck I am, who the hell even—” Yuri turned and almost tumbled off his seat. It took a moment to bully his limbs back into cooperating. He was having one last surprise growth spurt at twenty-four. There was no other explanation for his legs suddenly being half a meter too long.

Maybe he’d had one of those beers with hallucinogenic herbs in it, because this random asshole who thought he could control what Yuri drank was wearing Georgi Popovich’s face.

“Hi, Yura.”

Shit. It _was_ Georgi.

“No.”

There. That would show him. Yuri waved down the bartender again.

“Hey,” he said to her, enunciating every word as best he could. “Listen carefully, okay? This guy thinks I am done drinking. He is wrong. He is not in charge of what I do. Now, I would like another one of those disgusting beers, please.”

“And I’ll have a diet cola and a glass of water,” Georgi added cheerfully.

The bartender rolled her eyes and pulled another snifter off the racks of glasses behind her. Georgi settled onto the barstool next to Yuri’s.

“Go away,” Yuri growled.

“This is my neighborhood. Are you saying I can’t stop by my local for a drink on a Friday night?”

“Yes. That. I’m saying that. You ordered a _soda_.”

Georgi bore up well under Yuri’s glare, but nobody could withstand it forever. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked away.

“Okay, so Vitya asked me to check on you, you weren’t at home, and I know this is your usual bar.”

“Fuckin’ Vitya,” Yuri groaned. More than seven thousand kilometers of distance, and that overbearing bastard (god, he missed them both so much) could still give him a headache. Good thing his new beer had arrived.

“He said it wasn’t his place to give me the details, but he sounded really upset and worried about you.” Georgi pulled the snifter away from Yuri’s reach and firmly placed a glass of water in front of him.

“Of course he sounded worried. He’ll keep up the concerned big brother act until we’re all dead in the ground. Gimme my beer back, Gosha, you asshole!” He pushed the water away and made a grab for his _real_ drink.

The world went into slow motion. The water glass tipped over, creating a puddle exactly where Yuri was about to brace his right arm for leverage. He slipped and lurched forward. Instead of closing on Georgi’s wrist as planned, his left hand slapped at the snifter hard enough to break it out of Georgi’s grasp. It bounced off the edge of the bar, spilling beer in a wide arc on its way to ground, where it shattered.

Yuri locked eyes with the bartender. Neither of them said a word. Yuri slowly took out his wallet and set several thousand rubles’ worth of notes on the bar, well clear of the spreading puddles. The bartender raised her eyebrows, so he added a couple thousand more. Then he let Georgi guide him out the front doors and into the dusky June night.

He needed to sit down. The pavement was as good a place as any.

“Yura!”

Ouch. That was a faster sit than he’d planned. Skipping practice for the last four days must have fucked up his core already. And now getting back into training was going to be that much harder with a bruised ass. Georgi was tugging on his arm, dragging him back to his feet against protests that he _really_ needed to not be this tall right now. Georgi was about the same height. Why couldn’t he understand? 

They ended up at a late-night café nearby. Yuri slumped over and glared at the shot of espresso in front of him while Georgi pulled out his phone.

“What’re you doing?” In the relaxed atmosphere of the café, the slur of Yuri’s voice was more obvious to him than it had been in the bar or on the street.

“Telling Vitya that you haven’t drowned in the Neva and that I’m taking you home to sober up after this coffee. Does your cat need anything tonight? He’s fed and such?”

“I gave him dinner and cleaned his box before I went out.”

He hadn’t planned to return home before morning, after all. Potya was a cuddler, usually, but he’d been getting overloaded on attention from Yuri the last few days. Having the apartment to himself for the night would probably be good for him.

“We’ll go to my place, then, since it’s closer.”

“Hngh.”

Georgi took a delicate sip of whatever complicated flavored cappuccino-thing he’d ordered. Its sweetness wafted across the table and turned Yuri’s stomach.

“So,” said Georgi. “It doesn’t take a genius to guess the reason you’re drinking alone has something to do with Otabek Altin.”

Yuri chugged his espresso in one go and gagged. He held his cup out to Georgi and jerked his head toward the counter. Georgi returned with a refill a few minutes later. This one Yuri sipped properly.

“Can I ask what happened?”

He really couldn’t take a hint, could he? Of course he couldn’t. This was Georgi Popovich, the man who’d believed he could win his ex-girlfriend back with melodramatic skating programs after she’d ghosted him and plastered all her social media accounts with her new boyfriend. He was clueless and tenacious enough to not let this drop until he’d gotten an answer.

“It’s over. I asked him to marry me, and he said no.”

He’d video-called Viktor and Yuuri in the aftermath, not caring that it was four a.m. in Hasetsu. They’d sat up with him for hours, gently talking him through his anger. Viktor stepped away once “to let the dogs out and make some coffee,” coming back with puffy eyes and a choked-up voice. Raging to them had made Yuri feel a bit better, but that evaporated the instant he closed the call. Then all he could think about was Viktor and Yuuri cuddling in the Hasetsu morning light. Their marriage wasn’t perfect, but they had weathered every storm that came their way so far. Nothing had made them look each other in the eye and say, “This isn’t working anymore.”

“Do you…” Georgi paused, seeming to think through his words for once. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Hell no. You’ll just throw stupid platitudes at me.”

“Oh, I can do that whether you talk or not. I’m an expert. Better to have loved and lost, and all that.”

Yuri groaned and hunched in on himself even further. The fumes from his espresso were beginning to clear his head, but that mostly made him realize how much he felt like shit. Barely eating for days and then drinking almost two liters of beer—maybe he should’ve asked the bartender to define ‘highest alcohol’ first, because wasn’t that supposed to be like 10%? It didn't feel like 10%—wasn't the best choice he'd ever made.

“Time heals all wounds.”

“I’ll wound _you_ if you don’t shut up.”

Georgi shrugged and continued blithely on. “If he was too blind to see what he had, he never deserved you.”

“Don’t you dare talk about him like that,” Yuri hissed. “Beka’s a good person. He tried so hard to be a good boyfriend, but he just— I was— _Fuck_ , I don’t know. We tried, we failed, he left. It’s not like he cheated on me all along or broke up with me over Twitter or any of the shit your girlfriends have done.”

“And boyfriends.”

“Huh?”

“I’ve had boyfriends too.” 

“Like I give a fuck.”

Georgi’s phone buzzed on the table. He picked it up and smiled at the message.

“It’s Vitya,” he said. “He wants you to know he’s glad you’re safe but pissed you didn’t text him back or return his calls and let him and Yuuri worry until 3:00 in the motherfucking morning, you little bastard. That’s a quote. Oh, here’s another one. They want you to visit soon, and— Jesus, Vitya, slow down. Okay, you should also expect the usual Hasetsu dog-spotting report this afternoon, unless you don’t want it.”

Yuri’s stomach sank as he pulled out his phone. He must have bumped the volume down to alarms-only by accident. Sure enough, there were several missed calls and a stream of texts from Viktor, beginning with, _Hey, hope you’re doing all right today. Let us know if you need to talk again,_ from that morning and ending on, _Yura, please answer. I’m calling Gosha and then the police if he can’t find you. Please tell us you’re safe. We love you_ , sent an hour ago. He couldn’t bring himself to listen to the voicemails. Viktor and Yuuri were owed a very apologetic phone call once Yuri felt up to a real conversation. (This bullshit with Georgi was an exercise in enduring torture, not conversing.)

When he closed out of Viktor’s thread, there was still a glowing number one on the messaging app icon. A short text from Otabek: _Made it home._

Home. A week ago, that word had meant any place where they were together. Seven years of their lives, and it had all come tumbling down in an evening. No, that wasn’t right. That was when they’d been forced to admit that their relationship was over, but it must have been creeping up on them long before that. Otabek had figured it out first, of course, because he was always the one who noticed things. Yuri was the one who shrugged off the signs and kept barreling forward, right off a cliff.

He shook his head briskly. He couldn’t think about that right now. He switched back to Viktor’s thread and replied, _sorry. will call after sleep. yes plz to pupper report._ Then, after a moment of hesitation, _love you both too_.

Georgi wasn’t stupid enough to push for any more talking while they finished their coffees. Yuri’s head felt clearer as they left the café and turned toward Georgi’s apartment building, but they hadn’t made it far before his legs grew wobbly. Georgi offered a shoulder for stability, and Yuri valued not bruising his ass again enough to accept it.

He’d strolled arm-in-arm down this street dozens of times with Otabek. They would start the evening at their usual haunt, then sometimes they would move on to a club for one of Otabek’s gigs or to check out other DJs, or they would head home after a couple of drinks and spend the night wrapped up in each other.

It was difficult, for a moment, to remember that the warm body next to him didn’t belong to Otabek. Georgi would not appreciate him lacing their fingers together or slipping a hand into his back pocket. Or maybe he would like it, being Georgi and all, but Yuri couldn’t even get his mind around the idea of the act. He could touch another person and it wouldn’t be cheating. He could seduce Georgi right there and then ( _ew, ew, ew,_ said the rational part of his brain) with no consequences. Because he was single now.

“I still love him.” He leaned into Georgi’s side as they walked. His jacket was soft, not like the leather Otabek favored.

“Of course you do. It doesn’t vanish instantly when someone leaves.”

“I think I always will.”

“Maybe. You might surprise yourself there.”

Yuri couldn’t imagine a day when his heart wouldn’t ache at the thought of Otabek. Maybe the proposal had been his subconscious effort to patch over what was already broken, but he had meant every word of it. Given the chance, he would go back to Otabek in an instant. He didn’t _want_ that feeling to go away, no matter how it hurt. Who was he without it? Just some skater with a cat and so few local friends that a man he’d barely spoken to in years was the only person available to pull him out of a bender.

Oh god, he was turning into a mid-20s Viktor.

Georgi’s apartment was small. There was a tiny kitchen space and a living room that was more couch and easy chair than open floor. A single door opened onto the bedroom, and past the bed, Georgi pointed out, was the door to the bathroom in case Yuri needed it. He didn’t.

Yuri stumbled to the couch and flopped down, face first. Georgi made sure he wasn’t about to fall off, then he fetched a quilt and a small garbage can. Yuri mumbled that he wasn’t going to puke. Georgi _hmm_ ed in response and carefully arranged the quilt over him. His hands were so warm through the fabric. Yuri had been sobering up from the coffee and the outdoor air, but lying down sent a new rush of warm dizziness to his head.

“I should have a rebound,” he said, more to himself than anything else. He looked up over his shoulder at Georgi. “Wanna be my rebound?”

Georgi snorted and smoothed the quilt around Yuri’s shoulders. “No, Yura, I do not.”

“I’ll ask Mila, then. Gimme my phone.”

“Mila lives in California now, remember? I think you should wait on the rebounds until you’re sober and rested. Okay?”

It wasn’t okay. Sober, rested Yuri would have time to think. Thinking was terrible. He made assumptions, got caught up in his own ideas. A good rebound was a stupid rebound. Probably. He’d never had a reason to find out before.

Georgi settled into the chair opposite the couch and picked up a book that had been sitting on the floor. Yuri slowly rolled onto his back. Staring at the ceiling was more interesting than staring at his pillow, and the cushions had been putting uncomfortable pressure on his roiling stomach. He wasn’t going to puke, though.

“Gosha?”

“Hm?” He didn’t look up.

“Am I too immature to be in a serious relationship?”

The book went down with a _thump_ on the arm of the chair.

“Did he really say that to you?”

“No. I’m the one who went for the insults. I accused him of cheating on me, lying to me, using me to get access to better coaches. I yelled until I made him cry.” It had been one of the most horrifying sights of Yuri’s life, the way Otabek’s face crumpled when he broke down. “But I thought maybe… that was why we didn’t work anymore. Because I’m an asshole and demanding and act like a fucking teenager while Beka grew up and left me behind.”

Georgi frowned. Yuri wasn’t going to cry any more than he was going to puke, but the way Georgi was looking at him—like an object of pity—made him wish he could wail like a little kid. Kids who’d had their worlds shaken to the foundation could scream and cry until they wore themselves down into unconsciousness. When Yuri tried to skip right to the passing out phase, he got an intervention.

“Do you want actual advice now, or do you still just want to be angry?” Georgi asked.

“Both.”

“Not an option.”

Yuri couldn’t summon up any more good, strong glares. Georgi met his eyes implacably until Yuri was the one forced to look away.

“Yes, okay, I’ll take the advice,” he muttered.

“Yura, I’m thirty-six years old. I’ve been dating since you were a small child, and I’ve had more break-ups than I can count. Sometimes I was the one to end it; most of the time it was my partner. But the common thread over all those years is that it was almost never just one person’s fault. So yeah, maybe you were too abrasive. Maybe he should have told you something was wrong before it was too late to save what you had. Maybe you were kids whose relationship didn’t grow with you. It doesn’t make either of you the bad guy.”

Georgi stood from his chair to kneel by the sofa. His hand, smooth and warm against Yuri’s clammy skin, brushed Yuri’s bangs away where they stuck to his forehead and cheek.

“And it doesn’t mean all those good years together never happened. It doesn’t mean you weren’t really in love,” he added.

Yuri threw up.

He sobbed against Georgi’s shoulder afterwards, when the garbage can had been emptied and lined with a new bag. Five days’ worth of tears and snot soaked into the soft knit material of his sweater, but Georgi didn’t so much as flinch. He rocked Yuri carefully, murmuring the kind of comforting nonsense that would have sent him into a rage minutes ago. 

Tears gave way to watery sniffles and then silence. Yuri accepted Georgi’s offer of herbal tea. The ginger and honey blend smoothed out the last knots in his stomach. He would be able to sleep soon, probably better than he had all week.

“I think I’m gonna go to Hasetsu for the summer,” he said, resting his body against Georgi’s shoulder. “I haven’t been back since I helped Vitya and Katsudon move. I’d planned to ask Vitya to consult on my choreography for next season anyway, and I… I can’t be in this city right now.”

“That’s a good idea.”

Maybe Yuri was still drunker than he thought, because the next words out of his mouth were, “Do you want to go too? You’ve never been except for Vitya’s ice show. It’s really different when it’s just family. Not as much naked yoga or spirit possession. Oh, and they’re totally gonna try to adopt a kid soon, so we can tell them how stupid that is. Who’s gonna let them be in charge of a whole human being? They don’t know shit about anything.”

Georgi chuckled. “Sounds like we’re all getting older.”

“Ugh, no. The world is just getting more ridiculous. So what’ll it be?” He narrowed his eyes at Georgi. “Are you gonna help me stop them, or aren’t you?”

“I’ll think about it, Yura. Get some sleep.”

Yuri wasn’t sure what caused it, but he felt a sense of calm overtake him as he settled back under the quilt. He fell asleep to the sound of Georgi washing dishes and dreamed of running on the beach in Hasetsu. As he ran, he could hear dogs barking and familiar voices laughing—interrupted by the high-pitched squeal of a small child—alongside him. There was a soft, gentle hand in his, though he couldn’t say to whom it belonged. He was home.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The opinions on Russian imperial stouts expressed in this work of fiction do not reflect the views of the author, viz., that Russian imperials are awesome. I’ve also sampled a wormwood beer, which is what Yuri’s alluding to as “hallucinogenic” (not at all true in the amounts used for brewing and distilling), and it was sooooo astringent I couldn’t get past the first sip. Like drinking from a balloon filled with that bitter apple stuff you spray to stop dogs chewing on the furniture.
> 
> And hey, I said 3k and it was 3k! Three ship bingo entries down, two to go.
> 
> You can yell at me for breaking up Otayuri on [Tumblr](http://adrianners.tumblr.com) or [Dreamwidth](http://adrianners.dreamwidth.org). (Please don't actually yell at me about this, I am already very sad.)


End file.
